12 Months or 1 Year
by NotRelevant96
Summary: Future fic, set a year after the documentary crew leaves. What happens to Jim and Pam's otherwise boring lives when the documentary is released?
1. August 2012, Part One

**AN: **Hi everyone, first of all, just want to thank everyone who's been reading my other WIP One Week for coming out of the woodwork, I really appreciate you guys! I haven't given up on it, but this story is just a little bit of fun my friend Danielle and I put together. Here screen name is Deedldee on in case any of you want to check out her stories! Hope you guys like this new adventure. :)

* * *

"Hey," she says with a mouthful of toothpaste, standing in the entryway to their bathroom. "Did you lock the door?" she asks, lifting her glasses higher on her nose.

"Huh?" he asks, turning his head but not his eyes from the television.

She moves closer to the bed, one hand on her hip, scrunching her oversized stained t-shirt. Her baggy blue and white checkered pajama pants swallow her feet and swish as she walks. "I said, did you lock the door?"

He nods. She walks back inside the bathroom, gurgles loudly with some mouthwash and shuts the light.

"Hey, Pam, we have to pay the cable bill tomorrow," he mumbles.

She stops in her tracks, hand on her hip once again as she narrows her eyes and says through gritted teeth, "I thought we did that already."

He moves his head around her rigid frame for a better view of the television as she crosses in front of it, making her way onto the bed. "Nope," he says evenly, "I just made the mortgage payment."

"Fine," she sighs heavily, getting under the covers. "But we're going to be a little tight on money for the next week then, are you sure you can't live without the TV for one week?"

He eyes her, shaking his head. "College football is starting," he almost whines.

She purses her lips, choosing to ignore what he just said and she asks, "Is Cece asleep?"

He nods. "I put her to bed an hour ago, read her her favorite book."

She leans over to shut her bedside lamp, rubbing hand cream on her hands and arms. "Did she seem feverish to you? She felt a little warm when she came home from daycare."

He shrugs indifferently. "She's fine."

She waves her hand dismissively in front of him before moving to get out of bed. "You don't know. Maybe I should go check on her."

He scoffs, "You're really going to wake up the two year old?"

"You're right," she agrees, settling back onto the bed.

He turns the television off and puts the remote on his nightstand, closing his lamp and adjusts himself again, brushing her hand with his. "It's still a little early," he hints. "Maybe we could … you know…it's been … a month… and," he trails off, moving his hand around her waist as they lie facing one another.

She lets out a yawn, turning onto her back, her expression clearly showing disinterest. "I don't know. I'm tired. Gabe made me do all of this paperwork today, and …"

Before she can finish her protest, his lips are on hers. He pulls back, stares at her and tries not to think much of it that her eyes are closed.

"Alright," she shrugs, lifting her shirt over her head. "But let's be quick."

"M'kay," he mumbled into her neck as he trailed kisses below her earlobe as his hands slid around her bare stomach. Her stomach rose as she inhaled, her lips quivering as if she were masking a yawn. With her eyes still closed she put her arms lazily around his shoulders.

She let out a short groan, her eyebrows knit together as his hands slide down to her breast, his lips replacing his fingers on her nipple. Almost lifeless in his arms and her head to the side, she let out a sigh as he began to work his way from her breast to her navel, dipping his tongue in her bellybutton.

"Mm, Jim," she mumbled and patted his head lightly. His fingers dipped below the waistband of her pajama pants and he massaged the inside of her thigh before skimming his fingers inside the elastic of her underwear.

He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, his fingers rubbing just below the spot that makes her moan the loudest. Licking his lips before his mouth moves to where his fingers had been, he presses his finger into her core, feeling himself harden beneath his pajama pants. It's then that he realizes she hasn't moved an inch since he started working her over. He lifts his head, hoping to see her smiling. What he sees instead takes his breath away.

"Pam?" he lifted his eyes to find her eyes closed and her mouth hung open. "Pam?" he asked again, rubbing her hip. "Well, that's perfect," he grouched, drawing her pajama pants back up and moving himself back to his side of the bed.

With a shake of his head, he picked up the remote control and put the television back on, placing his hand behind his head as he watched some man on the Travel Channel eat his body weight in pancakes.

"You fell asleep," he whispers as she walks in front of him, through the lobby door he holds open for her.

She steps quickly toward the stairs as they make their way toward the office. "It was fine. I … finished," she mutters, her head bowed down as they step inside.

"I didn't," he says, louder than he planned to, glad that no one else was on the other side of the door he held open for her.

They settle in at their desks, both ignoring the grin Dwight wears as he stares at both of them. She lifts the receiver of her phone and punches in some numbers, immediately immersing herself in her work.

* * *

He grits his teeth, trying not to stare daggers into her skull as he also pretends Dwight doesn't exist. Inadvertently slamming his finger in his desk drawer while reaching for a pencil, he winces in pain, noting his wife of three wonderful years could clearly care less.

Pursing his lips, and trying to get started on some work, Dwight begins to giggle, forcing Jim to turn around and finally acknowledge him with a very short, "What?"

"I'm going to be a TV star," Dwight says, his chest expanding, his hands holding to the lapels of his suit jacket.

"That's nice," Jim replies, raising his eyebrows, his focus remaining on his computer screen.

"Hopefully," Dwight continues, "the producers will do the right thing and edit to feature me and not the rest of you idiots."

"What are you talking about?" Jim asks, only half paying attention as he reads through a client email.

Dwight grins widely, "You don't know?" he says almost gleefully.

Jim glances at Dwight's pleased expression for a moment before wordlessly getting back to his emails.

"Well, maybe you should read your memos, Jim."

"Maybe you should go sell some printers, Dwight."

"Idiot."

* * *

It's been almost a full year since Michael and the cameras had gone. Things had gotten back to normal. After five years, both Jim and Pam had forgotten what it was like to work in a quiet normal office. Kelly and Ryan went off to start their own computer software company, so not only did the gossip train leave town, the noise level did as well.

If he were completely honest, some days he would miss Michael popping out of his office with a random joke, or to call some pointless meeting about what tasted better – Jif or Skippy peanut butter. It was nice to finally not have a camera shoved in their faces at every turn. Most definitely, neither Jim nor Pam missed the documentary crew.

But for some reason, today everyone was buzzing, high fiving and whispering excitedly. Something seemed off. It felt like it did on those days when Michael would just appear with some random assignment and everyone would either be into it or against it. A fond memory, it was not.

By the time lunch rolled around, they'd witnessed Kevin primping his suit, asking Oscar if he smelled okay, and as Jim and Pam walked to the break room for lunch, they both witnessed Meredith mentioning something they wished they hadn't heard – that she needed a new bed, and that she hoped she could find a hair stylist on such short notice.

"Hey," he asked, setting his lunch on the table and taking a seat next to Pam. "Is it just me, or are our coworkers acting weird?"

"You mean weirder than normal?" she asked, stabbing her fork into her salad.

"Yeah … And the phones are ringing off the hook."

She shrugs, "Maybe it's our sale. Buy two, get one free ink this month."

He gives her a disbelieving smirk and shakes his head.

"What?" she asks, "We can have a good business day."

He shrugs, uncaring, "Who knows. So, did you pay that bill?"

"Quit nagging. Oh and when we get home, clean out the vacuum."

"It's your hair," he mumbles, keeping his eyes focused on his sandwich.

* * *

They both remained in their state of oblivion, not really caring what was going on with their co workers. Instead they finished their days work, picked up Cecelia from daycare and made their way to the grocery store.

Standing at the checkout counter, her eyes gliding over their grocery list, she tilts her head to the side and asks, "Did you get diapers, I don't see diapers?"

"I thought we were working on potty training her."

"We are, but she still needs diapers for now."

"Fine," he rolls his eyes, "I'll go get them."

The conveyer belt fully loaded, she steps forward and begins to rifle through her purse. "I have a coupon in here somewhere," she mutters to herself.

"Mommy, mommy look," Cecelia pumps her legs, moving the cart.

"Not now, honey," Pam disregards her and continues looking through her bag.

"Look," Cecelia points to another customer. "That's my mommy and daddy," she squeals, clapping her hands and moving her legs out of the partition in the cart to stand up. "Look mommy, it's you."

"Cecelia Marie, sit down," Pam scolds, bringing her hand out to hold Cece instantly.

"Mommy it's you and daddy, look," she whines, this time trying to wriggle from Pam's grasp on her.

"What…" Pam asks, following the direction of Cece's pointed hand. Her eyes widen in horror as she sees a giant poster of her, Jim, Ryan and Michael hanging from the ceiling.

"What kind do you want, name brand or the cheap," Jim asks, holding up two different brands of diapers for Pam's approval.

"Daddy, look!" Cece says delighted.

"Oh my …" he trails off, dropping both bags of diapers onto the conveyer belt. He lifts Cece out of the cart. "I never thought it would happen."

"_Co-Workers_." Pam reads aloud. "Coming this fall."


	2. August 2012, Part Two

**AN:** Hey everyone, thanks so much for reading and those of you who reviewed, really appreciate it! Hope you guys like this one.

* * *

August 2012 pt. 2

"Can you believe the summer's almost over?" Jim asks as they stroll along hand in hand down the path leading to the entrance of Nay Aug Park.

"Wow, yeah, September's next week already," she glances quickly in his direction before bringing her focus back to Cecelia. "We need to get her a new fall coat," she points toward their daughter, who has gone from skipping happily to crouched over, closely examining something in the dirt.

They both squeeze the other's hand, laughing lightly as they watch as Cecelia proudly holds up a brown worm. "Mommy, can we keep him?"

"Sure," Pam says with a chuckle, cringing slightly as Cecelia places the worm in her hand.

"He can be your worm, mommy," Cecelia nods happily and turns her attention toward Jim. "Daddy? Will you push me on the swing?"

"Sure thing, cupcake," Jim grins as they watch Cecelia run in the direction of the swings.

Pam probably could have waited the extra few seconds before putting the worm back on the ground, because as soon as she bends down, Cecelia whines, "Mommy, don't put him down! You have to keep him."

"Sorry," Pam smirks toward Jim as she straightens up and leans against the pole. "It's okay, baby," she runs her hand over her daughter's head and gives her a quick kiss before Jim begins to move the swing.

They stand in silence for a few moments, smiling adoringly as they watch Cecelia clap her hands and giggle each time Jim gently pushes the swing.

"Oh," Pam says, clearing her throat, "so, I was talking with Miss Rita about Cece yesterday when I picked her up."

"Yeah?"

"She's a little concerned that Cece isn't socializing with the other children. She shares alright and is polite, but she prefers being on her own."

His brow creased in concern, he asks, "Do you think it's the other kids? I mean, she's hilarious, I don't know why they wouldn't love playing with her."

She shakes her head, "Miss Rita didn't think so. Yesterday, when Cece was asked if she wanted to play with the other kids, she said no, I'll just play with my daddy when I get home."

He winks, "You're just jealous she didn't say she wanted to play with you."

"No," she says adamantly, rolling her eyes. "I think she's just shy. I mean, I was really shy when I was kid. I just don't want her to…" she trails off with a shrug. "Maybe we should have her spending more time with her cousins."

"Yeah," he scoffs, "then she'll be traumatized from all the pranks they pull on her, thanks to my brothers', and then she'll really be anti-social. Or, a bully. I think we have a good balance right now – holidays and birthdays. And even that's too often."

Pam tilts her head to the side and quirks her lips, but her reply is lost as they look up to find an elderly woman staring at them.

"Excuse me," Pam asks, shaking her head and taking a step closer to Jim.

"I know you two," the woman says. "Why do I know you two?"

"Um," Pam asks, trying to remain polite. "Did you buy a printer recently? Maybe some paper?"

"That's it," the lady says airily, her index finger on her chin. "That promo. You two are the stars of that documentary coming out next month. I saw your promo on TV!" she says happily.

"Promo?" Jim asks, lifting Cecelia from the swing, holding her in his arms tightly and moving closer to Pam so their hips are all but connected.

"Yes," the lady nods, placing her hand on her cheek as she eyes Jim and Pam. "It looks hilarious. I work in an office, so, I know how you feel."

"Yeah…" Pam whispers.

The lady continues, waving her hand between the three of them. "I'm assuming the two of you are together. How wonderful!" She brings her hand up to her mouth, as if she's telling a secret to Pam. "The promo makes it look like you don't even know he exists."

Jim's head twitches as his eyes widen. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's as if his entire vocabulary has been erased from his brain.

"Um," Pam clears her throat, "what's … what's in this promo?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the woman as she reaches her arms out to Cecelia, who is all but flinging herself at her.

"Oh, not much, you'll just have to check it out for yourselves, it's on TV nearly twenty times a day. I'll bet you guys are so excited," she rambles, reaching out her hand toward Pam, who takes a step back as Cecelia holds both arms around her mother's neck and hides her face. "Oh, is this your daughter? She's beautiful."

"Uh, thanks," Pam says, trying to hold onto a now fidgeting Cecelia until she just puts her down between she and Jim.

The lady grins and waves to them. "You have a wonderful day." She smiles to them once more before walking away.

Jim let's out a breathy chuckle and turns to face Pam. "I think we need to see this promo."

Her eyes widen, "I can't imagine…" she trails off, shaking her head. Her attention is immediately drawn to Cecelia. "Sweetie, why are you pulling my hand?"

"I want my worm back," she says, trying to turn Pam's hand around.

Pam opens her palm, "I'm sorry, sweetie," she winces in Jim's direction before bending down to Cecelia's eye level. "But I think the worm wanted to go back to his family."

"His family?" she asks, her lips pouted.

"Yup," Pam nods, "he has a mommy and a daddy just like you do."

"I bet his family misses him," Cecelia says seriously.

"They did, baby," Pam says, kissing Cecelia's cheek before standing up, lifting Cecelia into her arms.

"So," Jim says as they make their way home, his arm around her shoulder. "The documentary."

"Oh, I know," she sighs. "Why do I have a feeling this is going to be worse than we ever imagined?"

"Why did we even stay at our jobs back then when we could have found something much better?"

"Because we were young and stupid," she laughs. "And didn't think the documentary was ever going to be released."

* * *

Raising a shy daughter who is also at the same time, tentative about potty training is a task they're trying to handle simultaneously. Once home from their afternoon in the park, Pam made a quick dinner while Jim looked up potty training tips on the internet, and while he cleared the dinner table and entertained Cecelia, Pam searched the for information on how best to break her daughter out of her shell.

They're settled in the living room while she quietly reads the article she printed, her face set in slight bemusement as Jim talks with Cecelia about the benefits of using the big girl potty. Each time his voice cracks, as he sits next to Pam, with their daughter in his lap, it takes every ounce of self control within Pam to not laugh.

Jim points to the television, "Look, see?" he says, thankful for the powers that be at TV Land for showing a Pampers Pull Ups commercial right at that very moment. "She's a big girl, she used the potty all by herself. You want to be a big girl too, right?"

He pokes Cecelia's stomach lightly, eliciting a small giggle from her as she shifts her body right and leans her head to the left.

He wraps his arms around her and gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek, "We'll work on it, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. I will try," she nods with a proud smile.

Pam looks up, unable to hold in a laugh, and before she can say another word, the moment they'd been waiting hours for, finally arrived.

"Daddy, I think I have …

The television stops the three of them in their tracks, as they hear their names announced, loud and clear.

"When Jim met sweet, mousy receptionist Pam, it seemed like a beautiful friendship," the announcer says as clips of them high-fiving during the time they organized the office Olympics, and a clip of her happily jumping in his arms and kissing him on the lips after she won her dundie.

"Then," it continues to slow melodic sounds of piano, the music swelling as the screen shows a clip of Pam laughing in the parking lot in her purple dress, her face falling in an instant, "He left town."

"Daddy why do you look so sad on the TV?" Cecelia asked, sliding from his lap and tugging his hand as he and Pam stared blankly at the television.

The announcer goes on a second later, as a quick clip of Pam watching him and Karen dance at Phyllis' wedding is shown.

"Mommy," Cecelia points, "you look so pretty," she squeals, hopping on her little legs.

"In just two weeks, tune in to the premiere of Co-Workers, starring real people doing real work, and all the mayhem that comes with falling in love with the right person at the wrong time. Only on TLC. Check your local listings."

"What the …"

"Language, Jim."

"Language, Jim," Cecelia parrots. "Daddy why do you have your angry face on?"

"It's …" he whispers.

"They called me mousy," Pam says stunned.

"Mommy? What's mousy? Daddy? I pottied."

* * *

"So," Pam shrugs, picking the crust from her sandwich as they share lunch in the break room, "there's nothing we can really do about it."

"Nope," he agrees, lowering his voice as Stanley walks past, grumbling all the way to the back of the room with his crossword puzzle. "Thanks to the contracts we signed seven years ago."

"Eight," Pam corrects him with a grin.

"Really?" he asks, his eyes widening. "It's been eight years?"

Pam nods slowly and bites her bottom lip, trying not to laugh at her husband's dumbstruck expression.

"Wow," he says, scratching his chin, "I've been working here over a decade?"

"So have I," she says as a matter of fact.

"Yeah, but at least you…" he trails off, deciding to stop his train of thought the moment Erin quite literally bounces into the break room. He tries not to roll his eyes as she sits at the center table and begins rambling about the documentary.

"Hey guys, have you seen the new promo for Co-Workers? I'm so excited about it. I mean, I realize I'm not even in it until the end, but how cool is it to see you guys before I was around. It must be really fun for you guys especially, since there's such a spin on you. Like home videos. I had no idea that you guys weren't together. I mean, I thought you were always together. Well, obviously not always together but…" Erin continues to rattle on as Jim and Pam exchange silent looks of shared annoyance.

"Yeah," Jim says, his eyes locked with Pam's, "this is going to be really fun."

Pam tries not to laugh as Erin, who clearly can't decipher sarcasm, continues chattering about her excitement.

"I know, right! I was talking to Kelly about it last night, and, oh, don't you guys just miss Kelly and Ryan? I do." Erin pouts for a moment as Pam and Jim continue to stare at one another with smirks. "Anyway, Kelly was talking about doing a blog and I can't wait to read it, it will be totally awesome. Kelly's thinks there's going to be paparazzi everywhere. She seemed super excited, but I'm not so sure."

Pam lets a laugh spill from her lips instantly. "Really?" she scoffs, "I highly doubt our boring work lives will get that much attention. I'm pretty sure this show will be buried underneath much better television programming."

"One can only hope," Jim muses, taking a long sip from his soda can.

"Guess what I've got," Andy suddenly appears in the doorway with a huge grin on his face. "My first fan letter in the mail," he waves a piece of paper in the air. "Well, email," he corrects himself and stomps his feet and all but flings the letter toward Jim.

"And it's from yourself," Jim quirks an eyebrow toward Pam. "Didn't realize you were such a big fan," he shakes his head, trying to hide a smile.

"I know," Andy says haughtily, snatching the letter from Jim's grasp. "But it's my way of getting prepared for when the real fan mail arrives."

Jim reaches for Pam's hand, squeezing it lightly as Erin directs her attention to Andy.

"Do you think we're really getting fan mail?" Erin asks. "I bet you will, Andy. Everyone loves you."

"Hey, everyone," Phyllis chimes as she takes a seat next to a still grumbling Stanley. "Have you guys seen the new promo for the documentary? It's one that shows all of us in the office," she nods and smiles as she unwraps her sandwich.

"The one with the printing and paper selling has never been this much fun tagline?" Andy asks, turning himself around before taking a seat next to Pam. "Yeah, I love that one. I'm in there for 1.5 seconds."

"I think there's something seriously wrong with America if they think that a documentary about people who sell paper is fun," Jim mutters, leaning in closer to Pam.

"Jim, are you not having fun?" Pam playfully asks as she pats his shoulder.

"I can't wait to see if we get any fans." Phyllis says between bites of her lunch. "Bobby says he'll get out his hunting gear and use it on people who trespass on our lawn. Really looking forward to that."

Pam jerks her head back, matching Jim's horrified expression. She once again finds herself left speechless by her coworkers.

"I'm sorry Kevin," Oscar sighs as he and Kevin walk into the room and go to sit at the same table, "but I just don't see that working."

"I don't know why you are trying to discourage me," Kevin says slowly and pouts. "I mean, women love men who are on TV. All I have to do is wait for the show to air and then wait for my phone to start ringing."

"All right, Kev," Oscar utters condescendingly with a head tilt, "but don't be disappointed."

"Why would I be disappointed?" Kevin asks, his chin wiggling as he shakes his head in confusion.

"First, how would they know your phone number?" Oscar points sarcastically.

"I'm listed in the phone book," Kevin deadpans proudly.

"I actually I have to agree with Kevin," Meredith chimes in, standing with her hand on her hip. "There are some women who will sleep with anything. I, for one, need this documentary. Need to get my name out there. I think I've slept with all the men in Scranton. Except for most of the men in this room. I'd knock all of you off in one night if all of you were up for it, though."

"Meredith that's gross," Oscar says with a look of disgust.

"Whatever. The whole thing is probably going to suck anyway. From those promos, it looks like it's all about Jim and Pam," Meredith grouses, leading others to start grumbling.

"Hey," Pam says, trying not to sound too defensive, "we did not ask them to edit it like that. Believe me, we would prefer it if we weren't front and center."

"Again, I'm not sure why anyone thinks that we're that interesting," Jim shrugs.

"We're boring people," Pam motions between her and her husband.

Jim nods. "Very boring."

"What's all the fuss about," Creed asks as he walks in holding a half eaten turkey leg.

"We're discussing the documentary," Oscar says, not breaking his focus from the newspaper.

"What documentary?" Creed tilts his head to the side and takes a bite of his food.

"Uh, the documentary about all of us, dude," Andy says, twirling his hand in the air.

"Us?" Creed asks, placing his hand on Andy's arm. "I didn't know you and I were related. When's it on? I'll have to get a TV."

"Ah-ha! I knew it." Dwight bounds into the room, whipping the door open and almost breaking the glass. "There's a mass conspiracy and all of you are in on it. I've been waiting for this day…"

"That's right Dwight," Stanley says without looking up. "We're all conspiring against you. We've been cooking this up for years. You've finally caught us," he deadpans.

"Well, you've been caught and I'm taking all of you down," Dwight yells, his eyes bulging wildly as he points to everyone in the room.

Pam shakes her head and calmly explains, "There's not a mass conspiracy, Dwight. We're just all talking about the documentary finally coming out."

"Oh right, the documentary," Dwight says, lowering his tone of voice. "I, too, await the premiere. It will show this company in better light, when run by real management. Michael was a true leader of our times."

"Does anyone know what happened to Michael?" Phyllis asks. "I haven't heard about him in ages. I kind of miss him around."

"You never respected him, Phyllis," Dwight notes. "You always yelled at him."

Everyone chimes in half heartedly agreeing with Dwight.

The mutterings dying down instantly the second Angela walks in the room. "Yes, I just had a baby," she says, holding her lunch bag in front of her, she shakes her head. "Yes, the baby is Dwight's. No I do not wish to speak any more of it," she finishes, sitting by herself at an empty table, avoiding eye contact with everyone as she nibbles her saltines.

They each silently stare at Angela for a brief moment before they begin talking at once about the documentary and Michael, the noise level rising rapidly.

Toby walks in, attempts several times before getting everyone's attention, as he almost whines, "I'm sorry everyone, but you can't all be in here at once. If you are all on break, who's working for the company?"

His words go mostly ignored by everyone as they continue to eat and chatter.

"The show hasn't even premiered yet and everyone has gone crazy over it," Jim says as he moves his chair closer to hers.

Pam runs her pinky over his, linking them together. "I'm sure it'll die down once it airs and there's proof that there is nothing interesting about our lives."

"True," Jim nods. "But don't you miss the days when we didn't have to deal with this much crazy."

"And what days would those be, Jim?" she asks with a bright smile.

* * *

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Cecelia whines as they walk through the door. She squirms to be put down.

"Alright, honey," Pam says patiently, taking Cecelia's coat off, she walks to the living room and places her in front of her toys. "You play while daddy and I get dinner."

The sounds of Cecelia playing her xylophone as she sings, "I'm hungry," can be heard as he checks the mail and she grabs some aspirin and a glass of water.

"Hey,' she says, running her hand over his back, "Do you mind calling for pizza? I don't feel up to cooking tonight."

"Sure," he agrees, flipping his phone open to find a 'message box full' notification. He scrolls through the recent call list and gawks, "Oh my god. My brothers left me, like fifty voicemails," he shakes his head in astonishment as he listens to the messages.

"Oh boy," Pam says, holding in her laughter at his horrified expression. Once she makes sure Cecelia is still playing in the living room she walks over to the laptop to check her email. The first thing she notices once she's logged in is an email from former coworker Kelly. She inhales deeply and reads.

Hello everyone,

As most of you know I am about to become a reality star. To celebrate this occasion, I have started a blog that will chronicle my thoughts as the documentary airs. You can find it here: .com (that stands for 'Kelly's Totally Awesome Blog, incase you like didn't get it.)

All the best,

Kelly Howard-Kapoor

PS: Have you guys seen the promos yet? I'm totally geeked. Though can you believe how horrible and atrocious I looked back then?

"Ugh," Pam groans as she clicks the link, trying to brace herself for re-emersion into Kelly's world.

Hello, my name is Kelly. And you know me from the new documentary 'Co-Workers' airing on TLC, Thursdays at 9. The documentary recounts the time in my life when I was just a poor customer service representative for a lowly paper company but is also a powerful love story about how I met and fell in love with my totally awesome and super intelligent husband, Ryan Howard. But the documentary will only show you one side of this story. I am here to tell you the whole, unbiased, unabridged truth.

It all began on a lonely day for me. I was sitting in my nook feeing lonely and depressed when our boss Michael told us that we were hiring a temp…

Jim leans against the counter, his fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose as he listens to the words of his loving brothers, contemplating changing his cell phone number as they go on.

"Hey, loser, just saw your promo." Tom says sarcastically. "How pathetic do you look? I mean we all had to watch you drool over Pam for years, but I never saw first hand how much of a love struck fool you looked like. God, and it took her years to notice? Oh, Pam, I love you so much but I can't have you…"

Jim hits delete and listens to the next one while shaking his head.

"Hey moron," Pete laughs. "Tom just sent me a You Tube video of your promo. I'm going to send it to all our relatives with subject title Pansy Ass…"

Jim hits delete again and begins to listen to the next one. As he does, shaking his head for the millionth time as Tom's voice radiates in his ears once again, he comes behind Pam to see what she's reading, and reads along.

…And I had wanted really long hair for so long but my hair just doesn't grow very long, you know? So I got extensions. But you know what, extensions suck. Do you know how hard they are to wear? And, I just looked stupid. I did just get my nails done at that fancy new store at the mall. It's a shame you can't see them in the promo. Maybe in the first episode they'll do a close up. Anyway, that was the day that I knew I had found the love of my life, Ryan Bailey Howard.

Until later—Kelly Howard-Kapoor.

Pam rubs her head and glances behind her to Jim as he continues to almost violently delete messages from his phone. "Jim, where's Cece?" she asks, noticing how quiet it's suddenly become in the house.

He shrugs, hits delete and listens to another message.

Pam gets out of the chair quickly. "Cece, where'd you go, sweetie," she raises her voice.

"In here, mommy," Cecelia says in a small voice.

Pam walks swiftly towards the bathroom, finding Cecelia standing on the tiled floor, facing her training potty with her pants down and urine running down her legs.

"Oh, Cece, what are you doing?"

"I'm going potty like a big girl," Cecelia proudly says.

"I see that," Pam says, trying not to scare her child by yelling. "But you're supposed to sit on the potty, remember?"

"Daddy stands when he goes."

Pam pinches the bridge of her nose while she tries to figure out the right word combination to explain the differences between boys and girls to a two year old. "Daddy," she begins, "he's a big boy and he can do that. But us girls have to sit on the potty when we go."

Cecelia shrugs and makes a face that resembles Jim's going with the flow expression. "Okay, mommy."

"Come on, kid. Let's get you a bath," Pam says, undressing Cecelia and filling the tub with water.

"Can I have bubbles, mommy?"

Pam smiles and nods, "sure." She carefully toward the cabinet to take out the bubble bath bottle, uncaps and pours some inside the warm water, and then begins to undress herself so her work clothes don't get soaked by Cecelia's splashing.

"Pizza's ordered," Jim says, walking into the bathroom, stopping abruptly as his eyes widen at the mess, and asks, "Bath time already?"

"Cece thought she'd be just like daddy and stand up when she goes to the bathroom," Pam says, trying to hold back the sarcasm in her words. "So now, mommy's going to make daddy sit down whenever Cece is around."

"We'll have to figure out how to make potty time private time when one of us is alone with her. It has to be in one of the books," he says, moving his lips to the side.

"Look, daddy, I'm a fish!" Cecelia giggles, drawing in her lips to a pucker as she kicks her legs in the water.

"You are," Jim says with a laugh.

"So," Pam asks, "what did your brothers want?"

He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "To remind me how pathetically in love I am with my wife," he smiles warmly, a loving, almost lustful look crossing his eyes.

It's a look she hasn't seen in a long time. She hadn't realized she missed the butterflies it's giving her either.

Cecelia splashes some water at her mother's face, snapping the both of them out of their loving gaze.

"Sweetie, it's not nice to splash mommy, remember?" Pam reminds her.

"Sorry mommy," Cecelia says with her hands out to the sides.

"Good girl. Jim," Pam asks, motioning her head toward the mess on the floor. "Do you mind taking care of those clothes for me? Hers are going to need to go straight in the wash."

"Sure," he says, gathering the clothes.

"And, can you mop the floor, please?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

"Thank you," she grins and bites her bottom lip as her cheeks flush slightly.


	3. September 2012, Part One

The minutes clicked by, eight in the evening quickly turning into half past before they knew what happened. With a half hour left to go until the premiere of _Co-Workers, episode one- Dunder Mifflin Paper_ and a rather cranky two year old Cecelia whining and wriggling while Pam bathed her, the anxiousness they both felt all day had all but dissipated by the time they tucked in their daughter and ambled into their living room.

"Wow," Pam says as she scrolls through the cable box television guide, reading aloud the description of the premiere. "Dunder Mifflin Paper, episode one," she continues to squint at the screen as she sits next to Jim. "How much paper can be sold in a small town, between a manager who calls meetings for diversity, an assistant to the manager searching for the perfect healthcare and a branch wide basketball game. Also, can love be found between a perky red headed purse saleswoman and one of the many eligible bachelors?"

"That sounds non-threatening," Jim muses as he pops the top off of his beer.

"Here we go," she says, pointing to the television with a smirk.

"Yep," he smiles and wiggles his eyebrows as the opening theme comes up. "Nice, they used the Scranton sign in the opening."

"Oh my god, look at how young you look," Pam points excitedly toward Jim's sullen face while he watches Dwight hook up his phone's receiver. "It's official, Cece has more of your genes."

"Are you trying to say I look like a two year old girl?" he asks in mock offense.

"No," she balks, "I'm saying our daughter looks like a thirty two year old man."

"Forget me for a second, wow, Michael," he says, astonished at how different their old boss used to look, and a bit amused by how much of a kiss ass Dwight used to be as they watch Michael shout wassup. "Classic Michael. What happened? Most people age worse not better."

"You don't remember that summer?"

"Uh… no," he says slowly, shaking his head.

"That was the year he started using Rogaine and Dwight made him do that beet diet."

"Beet diet?"

"How can you forget the beet diet that made him lose, like, 20 pounds?" she asks, giggling.

"Nope, must have blocked it out," he says into the neck of his beer before taking a sip.

"I wish I could have blocked out the beet stained teeth," she says, sticking her tongue out in disgust.

"Wow, look at that shot," he shakes his head. "It's like they were stalking us."

"I know," she laughs, slipping closer to becoming engrossed in a conversation she doesn't remember. "Hey," she holds her laughter, "I have a question for you."

"What's that?" he asks, unable to peel his eyes away from the TV.

"Why haven't we been to one of Angela's cat parties?" her voice shakes.

"Oh my god," he chuckles, his shoulders shaking, both dissolving into a fit of laughter before Pam puts her hand over her mouth, pointing up to the ceiling, silently reminding him about their sleeping child upstairs. They nod in unison and focus back on the show.

"You know what's sad?" he asks, setting his empty beer on the end table.

"What?"

"That I have ten more years worth of useless information in my head," he taps the top of his hair.

"Yeah, well, at least you remember the important stuff," she smirks mockingly. "Like my favorite flavor of yogurt," she bites her bottom lip as laughter bubbles up again.

"Yeah, why did they keep that in?" he wonders aloud, mocking his on screen self.

"To show how stalkerish you used to be."

"Yeah, thank you—oh, that reminds me, you've got to get rid of the twenty containers of yogurt in the fridge. Half of them have to be expired by now."

"They're not that old, I'll eat them."

"Yeah, when?"

"I don't know, when I feel like it."

"Yeah, well, I'm not cleaning out the vacuum until you clean out the fridge," he smiles sarcastically.

"Hah-hah," she says, matching his smile.

"Aw," she reaches out to touch his arm. "The Jell-o prank."

"It's classic," he deadpans.

She nods, "Classic."

"Oh, it's Roy," she says with an air, as they watch Roy's burly gait as he approaches the reception desk holding a big black garbage bag.

"And you act as if this is a good memory."

"It's not like it was a bad…" she trails off, considering. "Alright, fine."

He closes his mouth, his jaw tensing at just the image of her ex on screen. He shakes it off after a moment and unclenches his shoulders. "What was in that bag?" he asks, incredulous.

She shrugs and shakes her head with her mouth agape as the next scene unfolds. It's the first time within the past twenty minutes that she's really noticed her weaker, younger self sitting in Michael's office, hand over his mouth as he tells her she has to clear out her desk. As she watches herself cry onscreen, she takes pride in the fact that she's so much stronger now.

"He faked fired you?" he asks, creasing his brow. "I never knew that."

"Yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't the last time he'd do that either."

"Yeah, but," he says in disbelief, "he faked fired you. To impress Ryan, of all people.

"Ah, free cell," she recalls fondly as the camera shows her old computer screen and Jim reaching into her old jellybean jar. "I miss the days when I could play solitaire all day."

"Yeah, well," he taps her arm with his finger, "if you want, I heard Bob Vance needs a new receptionist."

"No, no, I won't go back," she chants with a laugh. "I won't go back."

"You know, I do miss the days where I could waste hours on end, leaning on that desk, talking to you."

"Aw, really?"

"And the free jellybeans. God, you must have spent a fortune on candy back then."

"Well, my master plan of enticing you with candy so you would come to my desk fifteen times a day, falling madly in love with me, seems to have worked."

He snorts, "It did." He takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the sofa. "So, why don't you have any jelly beans on your desk now?"

"I have you, why would I need to entice you anymore? If you want jellybeans so badly, we have a bag in the cupboard."

"And they say romance is dead," he quips, pushing his fingers into her arm and shoving her to the side.

A few quiet moments passed as the scenes shifted to a shaggy haired Jim on a sales call, being interrupted by Michael. He couldn't help but laugh at the huge eye roll he made before hanging up the phone.

"Mr. Brown," they said in unison, their eyes wide as they watched their much younger looking co workers assemble inside the conference room.

"Do you have a hero in your heart?" she giggled, her hand covering her mouth.

As the scene unfolded, Mr. Brown spoke of Diversity Today, his memory triggered. "Do you know what's sad," he said, his voice cracking. "I had to listen to this exact same speech again while I was at Stamford because of something inappropriate Michael did."

"Not surprised. When was Michael not doing something inappropriate?"

He nodded in agreement and watched as Pam placed an index card carefully on her forehead and chuckled, "Oh, the cards on the heads. There are no words for that role playing game."

"I totally forgot about that," she says, her mouth hanging open in awe.

"I remember that day pretty clearly, actually. That day was…" he trails off, watching a conversation he had with Ryan at the reception desk unfolds, that of which he still remembers now, all too well.

"So," she sways herself closer to him, winking at him teasingly. "The girl on the Chappelle Show was hot, huh?"

He tilts his head back, resting it on the back of the couch cushion, inhaling slowly. "Oh, god, yeah, blonde, curvy, nice legs."

"You don't remember what she looked like, do you?" she playfully chides.

"Nope," he shakes his head and puffs out his cheeks. "Not a clue."

They both watch the other laugh heartily at that, identical head shakes and hands over their mouths. Their laughter dies down as they watch as Jim walks back into the conference room, sliding into the seat next to Pam. As her head falls to his shoulder on their television screen, she feel this magnetic force drawing herself closer to him and moves herself over, lacing her arm around his stomach, her heart aching a little at just how happy he was that day just to have that small moment with her. And while he places a kiss to her hair, raising goose bumps along her skin as his finger tips brush the cotton of her pajama shirt, she can't help but close her eyes and breathe him in as the screen fades to a commercial.

Staying silently snuggled together as advertisers hocked their goods for thirty seconds a piece, she wondered what was up next and braced herself for whatever it may be.

When the show came back on, they were immediately greeted by Michael clearly denying any responsibility toward choosing a health care plan.

She couldn't help the slightly sarcastic comment that fell from her lips as she watched Jim immediately –and humorously, deflected the request. "Oh," she says as she realizes. "So you're the reason we had such a crappy health care plan for so long."

"Me, what did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do," she says, pointing her finger toward the television, her head remaining on his chest. "If you had just done what Michael had asked, Dwight would have never been put in charge. You're lucky that Sabre bought out Dunder Mifflin and we got something better. I mean, what would have we done if Cece needs braces on the old plan?"

"Oh, that's easy, I'd just get some pliers and move her teeth back in place," he says, flexing his wrist for emphasis.

She shakes her head, rubbing her cheek along his t-shirt as the reason he took no initiative becomes clear.

_Right now, this is just a job. If I advance any higher in this company then this would be my career. And uh, well, if this were my career, I'd have to throw myself in front of a train._

"I think I need to find that train," he half laughs at his younger naïve self.

"It's not too late for a change, you know," she says, lifting her head so her cheek rests on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he gazes down at her with a smile, "we'll see."

If there's anything she's learned about being with Jim, in or out of a romantic relationship, is that she should never push that particular subject too hard. She knows she's the same way, and she also is well aware that one day, someone's going to have to push the other a little harder.

She couldn't help but note the smitten look he wore on his face, as he stood at the reception desk, letting out a laugh as she watched the two of them conspiring together.

"Spontaneous Dental Hydroplosion. Oh, my god," she giggled louder, covering her mouth to muffle the sound. "Man," she says, her body twitching against his, "you were good."

"I am still good," he says adamantly.

She nods, her hair rustling on his shirt. She smiles and looks up to him. "You are still good."

She adjusted herself against his frame as the show went to another commercial break, entwining her hand with his, rubbing her finger over his wedding band. She closed her eyes for a moment, she noted how at peace she was, just leaning against him on their couch. She tried to remember the last time they had done this, just sat together and watched television.

His voice broke her out of her thoughts. "Hey, Pam. Would you like to form an alliance with me?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows as she lifts her head to meet his eyes.

"Absolutely, I do," she winks.

"Oh, it's too bad the company is relatively safe," he nods toward the television as they watch Dwight cutting his way out of a box in the warehouse. "I would love to get Dwight in a box again."

"There are ways, Jim. There are ways," she deadpans.

"Wow, you know, I imagined Dwight getting out of the box would be great, but nothing compares to this," he says incredulously.

"When he walked into the office the next day with his hair dyed, I thought you were going to completely lose it," she laughs.

"Yeah," he says, as their laughter falls silent while they watch an irate Roy nearly slug Jim for touching Pam's hand. "Well, it would've been more enjoyable if that didn't keep running through my mind that day."

"Yeah," she says, squeezing his hand as she recalls the fight she had that night once she and Roy had gotten home. Her memory flashes pictures of them sitting in their small kitchen, he accusing her of cheating, her resolute denial only angering him more until he stormed out of the house, returning a few hours later with the stench of alcohol surrounding him.

Their arms tighten around one another, both yawning a few times as they continue to watch the antics on screen. "Getting sleepy?" he asks, shrugging her shoulder as he hugs her side.

"Yeah, a little."

"This is sort of um, enlightening, and also slightly boring," he notes, pointing the remote control toward the television. Like an old friend, the feeling of near contempt begins to resurface as she watches Pam kiss Roy as he jogs by the pair, he and his coworkers beginning a basketball game. "Okay, I'm good, you good?" he motioned to get up.

"Okay," she says, watching his face light up as he catches something.

"You totally checked me out!" he grins widely.

She rolls her eyes, "I did not check you out."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"I wish we had DVR because I would totally rewind that and prove you wrong."

She gapes, purses her lips and shakes her head. "Fine," she relents with a laugh. "I checked you out."

"Thank you," he smiles proudly, kissing her forehead as they recline again on the couch.

He points out the fact that he had to have his lip stitched that night, thanks to Roy's shoving. She runs her hand over the back of his head as he pouts and shows her the small little scar. She's seen it before, but for some reason, seeing it now, while being refreshed on how it happened right in front of her face makes her squirm in her seat.

The both look in any other direction other than the television as Pam leads Roy out of the office, the sound of her onscreen words about getting Roy into a tub make both of them cringe openly as they both lean back onto their sofa.

She can still count twice through her fingers and toes the amount of times she should have just quit, walked out of the office where they still work and never turn back. As she watches Michael stand there and insult her, she silently asks herself why she didn't chose the moment where Michael calls her Pam, 6.0 as the time for her grand exit.

"Wow," he chuckles, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Katy Moore. I can't believe they included her in this."

"Well," she shrugs, twitching at the jealousy that perks up inside of her at the sight of her husband's ex. "Michael and Dwight did make idiots of themselves in front of her. And she was pretty," she mumbles.

He shrugs, noticing how his wife's mood has shifted. "She was," he says, placing his arm around her shoulder again. "But she wasn't you."

She smiles, kisses his cheek and rests her head on his shoulder. "You didn't have to say it."

"But you're glad I did."

"Yeah," she says in a small voice, again feeling restless at the uncomfortable look of his face as they eat lunch with her ex, and talk about his ex. "So," she asks, trying to sound playful, "you still have a thing for moms?"

He laughs, "No," he says, placing a kiss in her hair, "just one."

The rest of the scenes play out before them, as they quietly mutter a chuckle every once in a while. As they watch Jim walk into the conference room, ask Katy out on a date, and watch as he walks her to his car, their grasp on one another grows stronger. Her head falls to his chest and his chin rests in her hair. He says her name, nothing following it after he kisses her head. Almost to remind himself that the woman on screen, in a pick up truck who's watching him drive away with another woman is the person he's sitting next to right now.

They both let out a small sigh of relief as the show ends and the credits roll. He clicks the television off and they sit together for a few quiet moments.

"So," he says quietly.

"So."

"That was…not as bad as I thought it was going to be," he tilts his head toward her.

"No, it was alright," she agrees with a shrug.

"And enlightening. I mean, we learned that we aren't crazy and Michael never should have been manager. That Dwight is a psychopath. And that our work place really is pretty boring so I don't think we need to worry about his show catching on."

"Yeah, exactly," she nods slowly, staring at the closed television.

He angles himself toward her, wrinkles his eyebrows in concern and asks, "What's on your mind?"

"Oh…it's nothing. Just…Roy."

"Roy? Really?"

"No, it's just, he was once a big part of my life and now I have no idea what he's even doing. I don't think I've heard about him in over a year."

"Oh," he nods slowly.

"Don't you ever think about Katy?"

He lets out a loud breathy chuckle, "Before tonight, I haven't thought about her since we broke up. Six years ago."

"I mean, it's not like I want to know what Roy is doing or anything. Just…maybe I wish I hadn't wasted so much of my time when I could have been…"

"Hey," he says, placing his thumb on her lips as their eyes lock. "All in the past. Doesn't matter now," he says, leaning over slowly and kissing her lips, pulling her closer for a moment as their lips linger and her fingers edge into his hair.

She inhales, pulling back slowly with a smile, her eyes still closed. She motions her head to the side, and they rise and begin walking toward and up their stairs slowly, pinky fingers joined.

They stop at Cecelia's room, stand in the doorway and watch her sleep for a moment. She puts her arms around his waist, rubs her hand over his stomach and smiles up at him. He grins down to her and takes her hand in his, leading her to their bedroom.


	4. September 2012, Part Two

With less than fifteen minutes to get themselves to work before they're officially late, once again, they both hurriedly gather Cecelia's things and hop out of their car. Pam un-straps her daughter and carries her toward the front door of the daycare, Jim a step behind, holding her little pink backpack that has her name on the front.

Normally, they hand over Cecelia to Miss Rita and her assistant and then run back to their car – just like every other parent that drops their child off at the daycare, unnoticed and unbothered.

This day, though, the moment Jim, Pam and Cecelia walk through the door, heads begin to turn like some sort of domino effect. Pam feels Cecelia's arms wrap tighter around her neck, her tiny body fusing itself to Pam's hip, her little head turned away. Jim reaches out to touch her hand and smiles at her, trying his best to erase the unease in his daughter's eyes.

Pam tries to ignore the onlookers who've begun to point and stare at her and her family, while struggling to put Cecelia down on her own two feet, largely unsuccessfully as Cecelia grabs onto her mother even tighter.

She tries to keep her voice as soothing as she can as she tries to release herself from her daughter's impressively strong grasp. "Come on, baby, don't you want to daycare? You can play with your toys and Miss Rita's here. You like Miss Rita."

Cecelia shakes her head vigorously, making some indefinable whining sound as she continues to hold on to Pam, her eyes following Jim as he tries to shield her field of vision as he waves off a few people who begin to walk up to them.

"I'm sorry," Pam apologizes as Miss Rita notices them and begins to walk over to the trio. "I don't know what's gotten into her today."

"It's alright," Miss Rita says with a warm smile as she moves closer to Cecelia. "Come on Cece. Time to play," she says enthusiastically, holding her arms out.

"Come on, sweetheart, I have to go to work," Pam tries to coerce her baby, tries to pull her away and put her down, to no avail.

"No," Cecelia whispers into Pam's neck.

"Hey, Cece," Miss Rita chimes in, putting a light hand on Cecelia's back. "I have some new crayons and a new coloring book you can use," she says, her voice high and gentle in bribery. "I know you like coloring, so why don't we go to the table and color."

At the mention of the word color, Cecelia's head turns to Miss Rita, her concerned face still the same as she brushes her hair from her face with her forearm. She hesitantly reaches out to her daycare teacher, and with one final look to her parents, she waves to them as Miss Rita carries her toward the coloring books.

While Pam rummages through her purse for a brush to fix her hair that her daughter messed during her meltdown, she almost runs into someone. Excusing herself and lifting her hand to find Jim's as he walks in front of her by a step, the man starts to point at her.

"Wait," he says, moving his finger between Jim and Pam. "I know you guys," he says, almost reminding them of their coworker Kevin as the man blinks slowly.

Jim takes her hand firmly in his and they do their best to side step the man and make their way to the car, foiled as someone, they assume it's the man's significant other begins to excitedly agree with him as she tugs his jacket sleeve.

"You guys are on that documentary that just aired," the woman says, nodding in agreement with her supposed husband.

Sighing inwardly, Pam nods and tries to remember to be polite. "Uh, yeah."

"You guys must have been paid a lot to do that. Why else would anyone subject themselves to such scrutiny?" the woman asks, annoying Pam with her accusatory tone.

"Well, obviously you have children," the man points toward the classroom. "I would have thought you would have considered your future and your child before agreeing to be on TV."

With a million thoughts running through her head, all Pam can seem to do is stare open mouthed at the couple as she squeezes Jim's hand.

"Yeah," Jim says dryly, "we did it for the money."

He tugs on Pam's hand and they walk briskly to their car, their heels clicking the pavement loudly as her hair bounces on her back with the force of her steps. "I don't like that," he says, opening the passenger side door and helping Pam into the car.

"Neither do I. I hope we don't have to deal with very much more of that," she says as he closes her car door.

They walk speedily into the office, taking their coats off as they go, stopping their chatter of weekend banking plans and gardening that needs to be done. He hangs his coat on the rack, taking hers and placing it on top of his, and they move a few steps to their left, catching Erin's stance at the reception desk, both hands holding a magazine, a wide grin on her face, she lets out a giggle that makes them both eye her warily.

"Hey, guys," Erin gushes. "Will you sign my TV Guide?"

Pam turns her head toward Jim, the same dumbstruck look she wore earlier once again crosses her face as they look back to Erin.

"What is this for?" Pam asks, slowly bringing her hand out to take the magazine.

"Oh," Erin grins with her mouth wide, "I just thought it'd be a good idea to get everyone's autograph. Now that we're going to be famous, I'd like to get a little piece of everyone. And besides, who knows what this documentary will do to everyone. I might not even be seeing you guys soon."

Jim takes the magazine from Pam as she passes it to him, his eyes remaining focused on Erin. "Uh, Erin, I don't think we're planning to go anywhere," he says, glancing down as he scribbles his name next to Pam's.

"And I highly doubt we're going to be famous," Pam injects, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"Oh, well, if nothing else, it will be nice to have a memento from when I worked here," Erin says giddily.

"Are you planning on going somewhere?" Pam asks, trying to hold the laugh back inside of her throat.

Erin's head flinches and her smile falls into a small frown as she whispers, "No, why did someone say something?"

They both wordlessly tighten their lips, identical looks of disbelief on their face as they quietly walk to their desks.

Dwight points his finger at both of them as they start their computers, keeping his eyes on his own computer screen as he says authoritatively, "Note. Just because the two of you think that you're celebrities now doesn't mean you can come into work late."

"We're not celebrities, Dwight," Pam says plainly. "I don't think we got any more screen time than you did."

Jim taps his pencil eraser on his desk. "Cece didn't want to go to daycare this morning."

"Well, maybe you should train your child better, Jim," Dwight mutters, cocking his head to the side and smirking.

"Speaking of children," Jim leans in and nods, "how's yours?"

Dwight straightens his posture, his eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes several times before he closes his eyes and turns back toward his computer. "He is doing quite well. I haven't seen him yet but I assure you he will be as strong as any Schrute boy."

"You haven't seen your child yet?" Pam asks with a laugh.

He stares at them for a moment before silently turning back toward his computer, clicking his mouse, seemingly breathing a sigh of relief when Phyllis calls the office's attention to her.

"Hey guys," Phyllis turns in her chair with a wide grin. "The documentary got a review on "

Everyone stays seated, turning toward their computers, clicking and typing away as Phyllis reads the review aloud. "TLC's newest documentary presents lackluster daily life at a paper-supply company, overseen by a clueless incompetent with an inflated self-image. His staff includes his arrogant, driven kiss-up assistant; a likable but bored sales rep who amuses himself by getting on the assistant's nerves; and the personable receptionist who bears the brunt of the boss' bad jokes. While the documentary content is high on the realism, (we've all been bored by our jobs, right?) it does lack somewhat of a coercive plot. Where is this documentary going? We're not sure, but we don't think we can stay awake long enough to find out."

As if not to be outdone, Andy stands as soon as Phyllis is finished. "Hey, well Entertainment Weekly gives it a B-plus."

Everyone shrugs indifferently as he reads from his computer screen. "Co-Workers is TV's finest example of a full-blown Hobbesian state of nature (hey, you waste education your way...) In the new documentary put out by TLC, in spite of a litany of rules, ''society'' is one layoff or pay cut away from bloody chaos.

Co-Workers mines most of its humor from nominal branch head Michael Scott, who in this episode, picks a health care plan, celebrates a birthday, and has a basketball game between the office workers and the warehouse. But beyond the surface layer, there's much intensity between the workers. It's shove or be shoved on Co-Workers. You can try prayer, but you'll just get God's answering service.

This show would be unwatchable if it were just 120 minutes of pathological torture. It's the pathos that makes us care: the unacknowledged ardor between Jim and Pam; Michael's constant attempts to score cool points; Dwight's...well, just Dwight. But the undeniable message is that the best way to serve your fellow man is to leave him the heck alone."

"Uh," Andy says, twisting his lips and scratching the top of his head, "does anyone know what that means?"

Everyone shrugs and gets back to their work. Erin stands behind reception smiles, nods and says, "Kelly has a blog."

"Don't bother with it," Oscar yells, "it's just a bunch of likes and totallys. Utterly pointless."

Eventually, the clamor over the documentary slows down, and everyone returns to work. By mid day, the phones return to normal business dealings, Pam only having to field one personal call about the show from her mother, who started a line of questioning about how Jim was handling it all. Once Helene started getting into the subject of Roy, asking Pam exactly what she was thinking during that time, Pam had never been more excited to spot a mistake in an order that was being shipped out tonight and cut her mother off. Jim escaped unscathed, only dealing with work calls for the entire day.

By five o'clock, despite the fact that Pam now had to stay late and finish correcting the delivery disaster that was about to occur, they were completely sure that this documentary wouldn't be anything big to deal with.

"Cece?" Jim called from the kitchen. Last he'd seen his daughter a minute ago she was sitting in the middle of the kitchen. He starts walking, worry not setting too much, thankful there's a child lock on their front door.

He checks the living room, under the dining room table, and then heads upstairs, checking his room before hearing giggles coming from Cecelia's room.

"Cece," he walks toward her bedroom. "Come on we need to fix dinner for mommy."

"I'm coloring daddy," she says sweetly.

Swinging the door open slowly, the sight before him makes him inhale and his eyes widen. "Cece, no!" he shouts, taking large strides toward her and yanking the blue crayon she has pressed up against the wall. He shakes his head and points his finger to the blue curly lines she'd created, feeling his face redden. "We do not color on the walls," he scolds.

She stares at him in shock, her bottom lip curving outward, she squeaks, "I wanted to color."

"I think we're done with coloring for the day," he says, taking a deep breath before taking her hand and leading her back to the kitchen, putting the crayon box on the top shelf of her bookshelf.

She resists being led downstairs, cries and tries to pull her hand out of his. Out of frustration, he tells her to stop, lifts her in his arms and carries her down to the kitchen, her legs kicking him in the hip repeatedly as he tries not to misstep and fall down the stairs.

Once in the kitchen he places his whining daughter on the counter, telling her to stay put before rifling through their cabinets for something to prepare for dinner. Sighing, and feeling like a horrible father as Cecelia whimpers and calls him mean daddy, the only thing he can find to make for dinner is pancakes.

He mutters, "Nutritious," and begins to gather ingredients and a mixing bowl. With one eye on Cecelia and the other eye on the pancake batter he created with an egg and some milk, he bends to the cabinet below the sink to take out the griddle. Eyeing Cecelia once again, he sets the griddle down on the stove and begins to poor batter onto it.

"I want to try, daddy," Cecelia says. Before he knows what's going on, she has the ladle in her hand and begins to spoon batter into her mouth.

"No," he shouts, too late, as she spits the batter out and tosses the spoon at him, batter all over the front of his shirt and sliding onto the floor.

Grabbing a few sheets of paper towel, he begins wiping up the mess, his nose sniffing burning from the stove.

Heaving a huge sigh, he turns the stove off, takes the burned pancake from the griddle and bites his bottom lip.

The sound of the opening front door had never sounded so good as Pam finally comes home.

"Mommy!" Cecelia shrieks, her arms in the air as Pam walks closer and lifts her from the counter.

"I missed you mommy. I love you. Daddy yelled at me," she whines.

Pam nods, glancing at Jim and asks her daughter, "Well what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"She drew on the wall in her room with blue crayon," Jim says while spooning out more batter.

"Ce-ce," she pokes her shoulder. "We've talked about this. What is it okay to draw on?"

"Paper."

"Yup," Pam nods, her eyes wide in authority.

"My toy box," Cecelia says, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand.

"Yes, we said that's okay."

"Walls."

"Nope," Pam shakes her head, resisting the urge to call her a pet name while trying to discipline her. The pout on her daughters face does not help that resolve. "Cece," Pam continues, "you're going to help mommy and daddy clean up your mess."

With a pout that makes Pam think her child's bottom lip may fall off, Cecelia crosses her arms and puts her head down, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling as she wriggles to be put down. Pam shakes her head, turns her around in her arms and places her in her booster seat, buckles her in and hands her a doll to play with.

"So," Pam says, walking over to the counter where Jim is hovered over the stove. "We're having…pancakes?"

"Yeah," he signs. "We need to go grocery shopping."

She nods, leans her arm on the counter, exhaling deeply and closing her heavy eyes for a moment.

"How'd the meeting go?"

She rolls her eyes, placing her fingers to her temple. "Eh. And Meredith had to drive me home. Oh, I can not stand the smell in that van. It makes me sick," she says, quirking her lip. She motions her head toward Cecelia, "How was Cece when you picked her up?"

"Energetic. But no one was staring at her when I picked her up. I don't think she's going to do well with the attention we're going to get from that thing."

"Well, today wasn't so bad. Except for that obnoxious couple, there really wasn't any attention. And the documentary—" she trails off.

"Yeah, who in the world, besides people who know us, would be at all interested in that?"

"Yeah, exactly. But, you know, it was kinda fun to see us so long ago," she grins.

"Maybe," he breathes in. "I wouldn't go back though."

"Oh me either."

He smiles, flips a pancake and catches her gaze, leans down and presses a kiss to her lips.

"Jim," she whispers, pointing to Cecelia with her thumb. They both look over to where their daughter sits, happily playing with her doll and completely oblivious to anything else around her.

"I'm just glad you're home," he says, kissing her once more.


	5. October 2012, Part One

Three perfect years. That's what he thinks when he looks at her sitting next to him in the semicircle booth in the restaurant that they've chosen to celebrate their anniversary. Three years of ups, downs and everything in between. Times where they were silently arguing, sometimes when they would raise their voices. Days when they never left the bed, back before Cecelia was born. Moments when things seemed so wonderful and put together, and others where they thought the other would just fall apart.

They spent time this evening, reflecting on those moments between bites of filet mignon, huddled together like they had when they first began dating. Nothing but loving gazes, bashful smiles and hand gently touching hand.

As they split dessert, a rare night out, just the two of them, he takes a moment to relish how happy and content just being near her for a few hours has made him. Even if there were more than a handful of times the conversation steered mostly toward their daughter, her accomplishments, what they hoped for her.

"Maybe I should go call my mom, ask how's Cece's doing," Pam says, almost out of habit.

He holds his hand on her wrist lightly, stopping her from putting her cloth napkin on the table top. "I'm sure she's fine," he says confidently. " She has the weekend with Grandma, it'll be fun for the both of them. How 'bout we curb Cece talk. I mean, I love our daughter, but tonight I'd like to love my wife."

She grins and shakes her head, biting her lip as her stomach sort of hits her with a flurry of butterflies when he slowly runs his thumb under her chin and whispers a kiss across her lips.

When he pulls back, the look in his eyes makes her breath catch, and the smile on her face makes his do the same.

"I've been thinking," she whispers, her cheek on his shoulder. "Would you want to have another baby with me?"

"With you," he pauses and hums in consideration, the vibration of his voice making her smile and nestle her head closer to his, her nose touching the skin on his neck. "Eh, I'd like to give someone else a shot."

She swats his tie with her fingertips playfully, giggling as she places a kiss to his jaw line before sitting up straighter. "No, I'm serious," she says, trying to keep her voice low. "I think Cece's at a good age where we could handle another one."

"You do remember that, recently, we spent three days scrubbing crayon off the wall, right? It will be twice the mess," he says, his thumb roaming lightly over her sweater sleeve.

"Yeah," she shrugs, fidgeting with the buttons on her sweater, "but at least we won't be out numbered …yet."

"Really, you want to do this?" he asks, lifting her chin with his index finger.

She hesitates, her eyes focusing on his chin, the depths of his eyes too intense. "Well, if you're not ready, then, that's fine," she says, the hint of sadness unmistakable. "It's just a thought," she trails off.

"Pam," he says, searching for her to look at him instead of the corner of his shoulder. He inches closer to her, their lips inches apart. He exhales as he says, "I'd love to make another baby with you."

The smile she would have worn is washed away with his lips, soft and strong, on hers. She sinks into him, forgetting they're in a very public place, and moves her hand into his hair, her thumb running inside his collar. His hand sweeps down and cradles the small of her back as they both deepen their kiss.

They are rudely interrupted by the sounds of giggles and flashbulb clicks. Instantly pulling back, Pam keeps her eyes fixed on the teenager girls, who own the giggles, and the middle aged woman holding a camera, the lens directed at them as the woman grins.

Pam turns her open mouthed glare toward Jim, unable to quell the unease within her just by looking at her husband. Jim gestures to the waiter for the check, muttering to Pam that it's time to get going.

By the time they turn onto their street, they've forgotten all about the onlookers, their free hands rubbing together as he drives. Their breathing is quick and fogging the windows as they pull into their driveway. Clumsily they unbuckle themselves from their seats, their lips drawn together like magnets as they slowly explore the others mouth. Her hand searches lower, finding him ready for her. He grunts, lifts her hand and motions his head toward their house.

Barely making it to close and lock the door behind him, she presses herself to him, hitching her leg up on his as her hands hold his cheeks, his hands glide up her sides and into her hair as he leans against the front door. Her knuckles graze the front of his pants, pressing into him as she slowly swirls her hips into him. He turns them both around, knocking into their end table.

She yelps, pulling away quickly to hold her side, waiting for the sting to subside, as he grabs the vase that sits atop the table complete with the fresh flowers he'd given her for their anniversary hours earlier, preventing it from falling to the ground.

He pulls her back toward him, but she stops him, putting her hand on his shoulder, a devilish look on her face when she says, "I think I'm going to get the rest of your present ready."

"You already gave me," he says, stopping his question as her hand passes across his hardness. He groans in approval, bites his lip and shakes his head as he watches her swing her hips while she walks up the stairs. He mindlessly rubs himself through his pants as he looks, very much enjoying the sight, and anticipating the rest of the evening, silently glad that her mother has their daughter for the night.

He strolls toward the living room, settles into the couch and imagines all of the things he's about to do to her. Those thoughts, apparently, according to the pulsing below his Dockers, have been a long time coming, and are too much for him to bear, if the night was to go anywhere beyond cuddling. He clicks the television on and quickly begins channel surfing as he tries to keep his mind occupied on other things, and not on the fact that he hasn't had sex with his wife in about a month, maybe more.

He flips through channels on the guide, and for reasons beyond his own comprehension, when he sees that the documentary is on, he selects the show. It's a quarter the way through something, as he tries to figure out what exactly, his attention is drawn to the entry way of the living room. His wife, barely dressed in something black and lacy, walks toward him, and it takes every ounce of energy he has to not drag her backward and have his way with her up against the wall. The look of desire in her eyes tells him she wouldn't mind if he did just that as she walks closer to him, pulling on his tie before she bends down and kisses him.

She straddles his hips, her hands gliding around his neck. His hands instantly cup her rear, massage her through the thin material, pressing her into his hard erection. Their mouths connect in a fury of kisses, one hotter than the next as she slowly rubs herself over his hardness.

Breaking the kiss, she sits on his lap for a moment to undo his tie, his eyes dark with want and yearning smolder as he stares at her hungrily. His hands roam her sides, pinching the material of her lingerie. Her attention is snapped like a cold glass of water to her face when she hears her name being said by a very familiar voice.

She angles her head toward the television behind her and asks, "You're watching this?"

He nudges her to turn back toward him, his teeth nibbling her arm, "Yeah, well … it was on."

She slips herself from his lap, her brow furrows in confusion as she watches herself receive a Dundie award, happily talking on a microphone. He makes an indiscernible noise next to her, pulls her hand back toward him as he kisses her neck, but she shakes her head slowly and nudges his cheek toward their television. He turns his head and they both watch as she thanks God for giving her a Dundie. She observes in growing confusion while her on screen self throws her arms in the air and around Jim's neck and kisses him, full on the lips.

"Oh, my god," she whispers, her fingers press into her lips.

"Yeah," he nods, trying to hide a laugh at the stunned look on her face.

"I kissed you," she says, like it's a revelation.

"You did," he nods, watching her blink at the television. He remembers that night, still. How happy he was when he got home afterward just to have those ten seconds with her. Now, though, that she's inches away, he wonders for a brief moment if what he's doing is taking her for granted instead of cherishing her and what they have.

"I can't believe," she bites her lip and turns to look at him. "My subconscious must have been acting up that night," she says incredulously.

"I'm glad it did," he says with a smile. "Gave me hope."

He puts his arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head as she stares at the television. Her mind is fuzzy on what exactly happened last week, let alone seven years ago while she was drunk. She gapes disbelievingly at the screen as she watches herself do things she can barely remember doing. Them sitting on barstools, her younger self looking at Jim and laughing, falling off of said barstool, Dwight without a shirt, all of it not even close to filling anything in her mind with a clear memory. They watch as she hugs Stanley, his wife, and yells to the camera, waving her award in the air.

Her head falls to his chest and her arms fold around his waist as they both stare quietly at their younger selves sitting on a bench, her about to ask him a question as he helps her down the curb to the car that's just pulled up. Her face falls into a frown as she watches her husband walk away with his hands in his pockets and his head down.

For some reason, the fact that she is now three years into a marriage with the man that is fading away on the screen as the show goes to commercial does little to help ease her newly surfacing guilt.

As if he can feel her falling to remorse, he asks lightly, "What was it you were going to ask me? Back then. Do you remember?"

She shrugs, thinks of the possibilities and says, "A lot of things I think. Did you change that award. Would you give me a ride home?" she pauses before she admits, "Were you in love with me?"

He moves a strand of hair from her face as he cups her cheek, "Yes. My answer would have been yes to all of them."

"I know. I knew. Which is why I didn't ask. I'm sorry that I didn't," she says honestly, staring into his eyes.

He kisses her nose lightly and smiles, "Doesn't matter now. The ending still would be the same."

Her response is lost in a sigh as his lips find hers again, his palm pressing to her cheek as he leans back. She follows, her arms around his neck, her thighs around his waist, his hands roam slowly down the sides of her breasts, making her moan lightly as she melts into him, losing herself quickly in the feeling of his fingers running underneath her bra, his lips attaching to her neck as her hands go to his belt buckle. She sits herself up, her legs straddling, the heat of her right over his erection. She unhooks his belt, makes him push up, the friction making her wetter as she feels him grow harder. His hands mold her breasts, making the cleavage spill over even more.

He sits up, shifting to take his shirt off. When he moves his hands around to her back to take off her bra, she pushes him to lie down, somehow lodging the remote control underneath his shoulder. Blindly he reaches for it, pushes what he thinks is the 'off' button, as his other hand works her bra hook and his lips locked with hers, the volume suddenly skyrockets, Dwight's voice filling the room as he asks Toby, "Where is the clitoris?"

He looks over for a moment, tries to find the off button, but she's already slid back, her attention, and horrified expression, are toward the television once again as they watch Dwight talk to Toby about the female vagina.

"Okay, gotta shut this," he says, wiping sweat from his brow as he squints at the remote.

"No, no wait," she tells him. "I remember this," she says, watching with amusement as Michael walks out his office to inform his coworkers that he can no longer be their friend.

"Oh, I … hey," he says, to no avail.

"Look at you, so facetious," she laughs, "so perfect."

They watch for a few more seconds as Jim finally pushes Michael to shout his famed phrase, both laughing wildly. "I have to say," he says between laughs, "I really could get him to do anything."

She nods, the moment of passion completely lost as she mindlessly adjusts her bra strap. "Oh my god, it's my mom," she says.

"Yep, moment's over," he says, sitting up further on the couch as she gets up to adjust herself on the cushion next to him.

She recalls vividly as she watches herself giddily show her mom her desk area, how that night when they went to dinner, Roy could barely pay any attention to the conversation. And she cringes at herself just a little, because even her mother knew her friendship with Jim was something more. Even back then. She sits and views her younger self grow flustered at the mention of his name by her mother and wonders, what exactly she was thinking back then, when everyone else could see that she had feelings for Jim, and yet she clearly remained oblivious, trying her best to work things out with Roy.

"Yeah, your mom always did love me didn't she?" he muses, laughing at his own humor. She loves when he does that.

She nods, settles herself under the crook of his arm and runs her finger over his rib cage as they focus on the television.

One major thing she notices about the next images that cross the screen. He's pounding his fingers into a calculator, boredom written all over his face. She notices how tired he looks on screen and wonders if that look has ever really gone away. What stands out more is how incredibly happy he is to be standing at her desk, just chatting with her as they flick paperclips in Dwight's coffee mug. They're far too busy to do anything like that now and as the scene unfolds, she wonders if that's necessarily a good thing, that they're so busy that they've forgotten how to have fun. And not just with work.

"Oh, you know what this is?" she says, lifting her gaze to meet his. "This is when you and I made the Olympics out of office games."

"Oh, wow, yeah," he says fondly.

She nods, her cheek nuzzling itself deeper into the fibers of his shirt. Her smile widens as she watches the two of them laughing, joking and asking their co workers about any games they play.

The scene cuts to Michael, in the kitchen of his condo where he stands with a bald man and his ex, Carol. He yawns and stretches his arms, resting his hand on her elbow, and muses, "Why would anyone find this interesting?"

"Oh, poor Carol," she cringes and shakes her head. "She has no idea what's coming."

"I'm sorry, she sold him his condo. She had to know a little what was coming," he says sarcastically.

She nods, the thudding of his heart under her ear as her focus on the television fades a bit as she watches herself actively flirting with him on screen. Brushing it off, she tries to get her attention back on the actions and not her subtleties, and attempts to wave off the feeling of unease that knocks at her brain.

She laughs abruptly, trying to distract herself, and points toward the television with her chin, "Aw, flonkerton. Why do we not play that anymore?"

They erupt into a small fit of giggles as they continue to watch with bemused expressions. She can't help but let her hand drift toward his waist as they cuddle.

"Huh," he chuckles, "Pam pong?"

"I never told you about that?" she asks.

"No," he shakes his head.

"Yeah, you know Angela," she laughs. "I want to know how she kept such diligent track since her back was to reception."

He laughs lightly, rubs his thumb over her jaw line, the butterflies springing to action when he says, deeply and almost sensually, "Hey, you know what I want to do tonight?"

"What?" she says, her voice hitching as she stares at him, her eyes outlining his lips as he speaks.

He licks his lips and she feels herself turn to silly putty. "Play some Pam pong."

She grins, giggles surfacing as she moves herself to sit upward, "That's so cheesy."

He leans forward, his breath kissing hers, he asks, "So, do you want to?"

She makes some syllabic sound that gets caught somewhere around her lungs as his lips descend onto hers. All of her quiet thoughts on how that conversation could possibly turn her on flew out the window. He begins to lay her down on the couch, his fingernail scraping the sensitive skin near her waist. His lips fall to her neck, her hands hold to the back of his head as she starts to lose herself to him, trying to tune out the sound of their phone ringing.

"Ignore it," he breathes heavily, his lips moving lower and his hands cupping her rear.

Her brain clicks back to reality and thoughts seep into her consciousness once again. "I can't, what if it's about Cece?" she frets with a groan.

He gets up reluctantly, nodding and running his hands through his hair. He tries to think of something, anything else, and not stare at her as she sits on the other side of the couch with her legs crossed, talking on the phone.

Directing his attention to the television, he smiles instantly at the sight of the blue yogurt lid. He drifts back to the memory of how significant that lid really was. Still is, he reminds himself. If it weren't for that little piece of paper and that small circular aluminum, he wouldn't be sitting here on his couch, with a very frustrated hard on.

He turns his attention toward the television half listening to Pam's conversation with her mother, and the other part of him noticing just how jealous she was of Katy back then, as her image on screen begins to regale how happy she is that he found someone. He'd believe it right now too, if he didn't know his wife well enough to know when she's bold face lying.

The scene shifts to him and his co workers standing around in the parking lot, he notes quietly how pretty she looked that day, her hair glimmering in the sunshine, her face small, almost pure. He looks over to where she's currently sitting, so close yet so far as he hears her talking about cough medicine and how often she should give it. He frowns when he hears Pam ask, "Does she have a fever?" his heart loosening when she follows up that statement with a nod and an, "Okay, good."

He focuses solely on his wife as he anticipates her ending the phone call like some sort of puppy with a treat being dangled in front of him. The second he thinks she's finished, she goes on a tangent and starts talking about the documentary, he's amused when he hears that the title of the current episode is called 'That's What She Said' and he laughs when she says, "You looked so different then. Yeah, we sure did age you."

"Everything okay?" he asks as she puts the phone back on the charger.

"Yeah, Mom wanted to make sure it was alright with us to give Cece some medicine for her cough."

"Do you want to go get her?"

She shakes her head, "Mom's got it all under control. She said it's not that bad, but Cece was whining a little."

"Okay," he nods.

"So," she points to the television, "where are we?"

He nudges his chin outward, "Oh, you remember that day Ryan tried to burn down building? This is it."

She settles against him again, her head on his shoulder as they become captivated by the parking lot games, laughing at their movie choices, and snickering at Angela and her entire holier-than-thou persona. As things play out before them, they begin to cringe at the memory of how awkward it was to even attempt to answer the 'who would you' do portion of their game.

"Oscar?" he asks in mock disbelief. "Toby?"

"Oh, come on," she says, swatting his hand lightly.

He eggs her on, "You said, Toby. Really?"

"Your answer was Kevin," she points out.

"Yeah, well," he defends his younger self. "Roy was standing right there. And obviously, it was a joke."

"Well, Meredith, Kelly and Phyllis were standing by me. And the camera. And I was engaged at the time. I wasn't about to express my sexual feelings for you. And … why am I even defending myself, it was seven years ago."

"Sexual feelings?" he chides playfully. "So, you did want to do me then."

"Oh stop," she sigh's a laugh. "I think you're also missing the fact that Meredith, Kelly, and Phyllis all want to do you."

He waves his hand in the air as if it will wash that fact away and continues, "Yeah, but you still want to, right?"

She tilts her head to the side, "I'm sitting here half naked on your couch, what do you think?"

He sits silent, a grin on his face, his eyes widening and his head nodding quickly as he waits for her to say it.

"Yes, Jim," she nods, purses her lips and finally says, "I want to do you."

"Eh, I'm not really in the mood," he says haughtily, turning his attention back to the television.

She punches his arm and they look at one another and laugh, shaking their heads as he puts his arm around her shoulder.

"I wish I could fast forward through this," she cringes, taking his tie in her hand as she watches Katy do the same on screen to him.

"I wish I could have then, too," he agrees.

She closes her eyes and places her hand over his heart, feeling it thud below her finger tips. Her engagement ring flicks in the low light of the room, and they huddle closer to one another quietly as they continue watching.

The scenes turn to Halloween, the quick editing depicting the plight of their old boss Michael, his resistance to firing someone. They hold on tighter as they watch his face fall as her younger self tries to persuade him to take a job out of state, in Maryland. She begins to realize now, as she sits and watches with wide eyes, that she's the reason he stayed. That time, anyway, she reminds herself.

"I'm glad you didn't take it. That job, in Maryland."

"Yeah, I wonder what it would been like if have had," he says, his voice raspy.

"I'm pretty sure I really would have blown my brains out. I mean there were so many times I thought about it when," she trails off, finishing the rest of her thought in the confines of her mind.

He squeezes her shoulder and drops a kiss to her hair, holding his mouth to the top of her head, as if to tell her he knows exactly what she's feeling in this instance. She nuzzles her head further into the crook of his arm and presses her hand more firmly to his heart as she closes her eyes for a moment.

When her eyes open and refocus on the television, she's left watching something she most definitely remembers. "I remember being mad at you that day," she says as things on the television go from light hearted fun to something more solemn. Her heart begins to ache as she watches Jim's face fall from pure love to something akin to pain, as she demands to be let down after he had lifted her off the ground and tickled her.

"I remember being mad at you that day," she whispers.

"It was because of that," he points to the television as Meredith glares at them. "I don't get it."

"Your hand brushed against my stomach and I felt…so many things. And then she saw and I was afraid. Afraid that she might have seen what I was really feeling," she says slowly, moving herself to kneel on the couch cushion, his eyes following his hand as she led it to her bare stomach. The heat of his touch electrifies her now just like it did that day, she recalls as their eyes hold one another's gaze.

He swallows, licks his lips and pulls her closer, holding her leg as she straddles his hips while he sits. "What were you feeling?" he asks, his eyes roaming her body, making her stomach flip as his index finger outlined her jaw.

"That I liked it," she breathes out, kissing the corner of his mouth slowly, her tongue licking his lower lip.

His fingers move to her waist, his eyes filled with nothing but adoration when he says, "I love you."

"I love you too," she says, kissing his forehead, moving her lips to his cheek and then to his lips once again.

They kiss softly, sensually, his tongue tracing her bottom lip before her mouth opens under his. He rolls his tongue over hers, sucking, tasting, reveling in how good she feels. She deepens the kiss, her hands through his hair, pressing herself against him, enjoying the small moans he's eliciting.

She feels him harden, pressing into her as she hovers over him, her hands busy taking his tie off as their lips tangle together in messy slow kisses. He growls as she slowly swirls her hips, rubbing herself over the firmness between her legs. It only takes a second for him to unhook her bra, releasing her breasts to him. With one squeeze, she's wetter then she's been in ages.

He lifts her, tries to stand, tries to make it out of the room, but she shakes her head, reaches her hand into his pants and grasps his hardness, moving her hand up and down his length as she tugs at his pants, a signal for him to take them off. She helps him remove every piece of clothing, her eyes drawn to his erection standing at attention.

He takes her by the wrists, presses her close to him, his hands skim down her sides and remove her underwear, his fingers finding their home within her core as he pumps inside of her. She falls limp onto the couch. He kneels before her, spreads her legs dipping his tongue into her wet center. When she moans, he moves higher, licking and sucking her clit in the way he knows she loves. Soon, she's screaming his name, bucking wildly as she rides out her orgasm.

He tugs her arms, brings them both to the floor, her on her back, her nipples between his fingers as he rolls them to a peek. She tells him how much she wants him, how much she loves him, and when she tells him she wants him to make her come again, it's all he needs to hear. He strokes himself and tells her she's beautiful as he slides into her, her hips bucking and rolling, her eyes squeezed shut at the sensation. Her mouth hung open, moans and cries spilling from her lips as he pounds himself into her, every plunge deeper than the one before.

Her hands reach out for him as she feels herself on the verge of another orgasm, their mouths crash together, then his lips are gone, back to suckling her nipples, his fingers massaging her clit as he pumps himself inside of her, sweat dripping from his forehead.

He grabs her ass, tilts her, pushes himself deeper within her, her cries making him work harder, faster. She tells him how good he feels, how she loves how he feels inside of her. He pushes into her as far as he can go and she wraps around him completely. The hold onto each other tightly, their eyes locked, a feeling of deep connection they haven't felt in a long time. With one final thrust, her orgasm hits, the tightening of her walls causing him to explode within her.

"Wow," Pam breathes, still holding Jim close to her.

"Yeah," he pants. "That was…" He kisses her softly and gives one gentle thrust before he pulls out.

"Happy anniversary," she says, one hand sliding against his cheek.

He takes her hand and kisses it. "I don't think the celebration is over yet," he says, a twinkle in his eye.

Later, sore and exhausted after a second round, they lie in their bed and make plans for the next day. They decide to relive the first day of their honeymoon and not budge from their room.


	6. October 2012, Part Two

The wonderful, euphoric feelings they both enjoyed during their anniversary weekend spill over into giddy bubbly moods as they set foot into the confines of the office. Of course, they both know they'll soon be chastised by Dwight for being late once again. They're both well aware that this time, their tardiness has little to do with their daughter, since Cecelia is still with Pam's mother. Somewhere between the time they went to sleep after their anniversary dinner and the moment after they finished a lavish breakfast in bed the morning after, they decided to let Cecelia enjoy some extra time with grandma, as they continued to reconnect throughout the weekend.

True to form, Dwight chimes in immediately as they settle into their desks, his tone filled with sarcasm as he speaks. "Oh, good morning. How nice it is that the two of you finally decide to show up. How the two of you think that you can take Friday off and be inexcusably late all the time is-"

Pam holds up her hand, her eyes wide and a challenge in her tone. "What are you going to do, tell on us?"

Dwight sits down slowly in his chair, holding her glare for a moment before recoiling and focusing on his computer. Jim covers his mouth with his hands, his eyes laughing with his wife's as they muffle their building laughter.

"What was that?" Jim asks, shaking his head and turning his attention toward Dwight.

"I have better things to do than to worry about your work ethics. I have fan mail," Dwight says, waving a neat pile of envelopes in the air.

"Ooh, fan mail," Jim retorts. "Get any love letters in their Dwight? Or they all from Angela and your Cousin Mose?"

"Oh please," Dwight scoffs. "Like Mose knows how to write. He is, however, president of my fan club."

Dwight refocuses his attention on the letters in front of him as Jim and Pam exchange curious and bemused looks, Pam's mouth agape, Jim's eyes widened.

"Hey, I wonder if we have any fan mail yet," she asks quietly, rising from her seat, she walks toward the reception desk to take a look at the piles of envelopes that grace the top of her old desk.

She walks back over, biting her bottom lip as she hands Jim his pile with a wink before taking her seat.

He shakes his head in protest, "No, not opening them."

"Come on, you know you want to," she says teasingly.

"Fine, but only because…" he trails off, mouthing the rest of his sentence, causing Pam's cheek to flush. In dramatic fashion, he opens one of the envelopes, reading it just loud enough for her to hear.

_Dear Mr. Halpert,_

_You seem like such a lovely young man. I do hope that you've found happiness with that receptionist. If it's any help, I think she likes you too._

_Sincerely_

_Xx_

"Hey, she thinks you like me," he grins.

"Huh, imagine that," Pam muses as they exchange wide grins, their heads tilted to the side slightly.

He purses his lips, raises his eyebrows and reads the next letter in the same way.

_Jim,_

_My name is Franny, and I've just adored you ever since the premiere of Co-Workers. I just wanted to know that I would—_

He stops abruptly, his face flushing as he eyes the rest of the letter, his mouth hanging open.

"What does she want to do, Jim?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Come on, tell me."

"No."

Pam reaches for the letter, barely successful in her attempt he snatches it out of her reach.

"Fine, fine," he waves his hand in front of him, continuing to read the letter.

_I just wanted you to know that I would marry you and have your babies.  
_

She laughs, a burst of air slightly fanning a manila envelope on her desk. "Well, now I know I'm not the only girl who would marry you and have your babies."

He smirks at her, his cheeks pinker than normal as he takes the letter from her grasp and tosses it in the trash.

Pam takes the liberty of opening the next one in his pile, wheeling her chair closer to him as she reads mockingly, "_Dear Jim, I think you're amazingly hot and sexy and _(she pauses, her jaw dropping a little) Wow! (she continues to read to herself, commenting as she goes along) This is…Who puts this in a letter? Just…now how would one do that exactly? Huh—oh, ha, I know you don't like that, that's not going to help her much. Now that! Yes, that's makes you-"

"Stop!" he cut in, covering her mouth with his hand, yanking the paper away from her. His eyes skim the letter, his blood pressure lowering as he reads a client request for contract renewal. He glances back up to see her grinning wildly back at him, her eyes shining, and a small laugh escaping from between her teeth.

He smirks, sticks his chin out and rubs his fingertips over the light stubble. "Why don't you read your letter," he says wryly.

"Okay, let's see what we've got," she says, giddily. She tears the envelope and begins to read, her face falls as her eyes move across the paper.

His bemused expression lost to concern, he asks, "What's it say?"

Shaking her head, she says, "Nothing," and tosses the letter in her trash can. She ignores his concerned look and gets back to work, waving her hand for him to stop looking at her.

He sighs, re-focuses on his order forms and makes a few sales calls, his curiosity over her letter still fresh in his mind.

She steps away from her desk a while later and he seizes the opportunity to peek at what exactly had shaken his wife to silence.

_Dear Ms. Beesly,_

_You should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you lead that poor young man on? Can't you see how much he cares about you? You hussy, playing with his emotions while you have a perfectly decent fiancé…_

His stomach turning into knots as the writer continues to rip Pam apart for her treatment of that poor innocent boy, Jim. Feeling nauseous, he stops reading and tosses the letter back where it belongs – in the trash. Not mentioning the letter for the rest of the work day proves a small challenge, but by now, he knows when and how to get her to talk to him.

He waits until the day is over and they're in the car on the way to pick up Cecelia before he brings it up again.

"Hey," he says, catching a glimpse of her staring out the window sullenly.

"Hey," she whispers.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"Really? You've been quiet all day. You didn't even comment when Dwight went through his demonstration of western martial arts versus eastern martial arts. I mean, that was entertainment right there."

She forces a smile. "Yeah."

He sighs, takes a moment and considers his words before he says, "I read that letter. And Pam, seriously, don't let that get to you. It was some idiot that clearly didn't know what they were talking about. Just ignore it. Believe me, I was never led anywhere I didn't want to be led."

She smiles faintly and nods. "Thank you," she says with a sigh. "But, it's not so much about what she said. It's the fact that she felt the need to say it. She's seen, what, two episodes of this thing and paints me out to be this evil seductress or something."

"Oh, evil seductress," he laughs.

She grins and chuckles lightly. "Seriously though. What possesses people to think that they can just judge someone without knowing all of the facts? And feel the need to write a letter about it?"

"I blame the first amendment. We should get that repealed right away," he jokes.

"Yeah, I should write a letter to her, see how she likes it."

"We can trade. You can be the one being objectified. I mean, a marriage proposal, really? How do they know I'm probably not the superficial man of their dreams?"

"Well, at least that isn't insulting."

"Pam, look, people are idiots. I think we've worked at Dunder Mifflin long enough to learn that, you know? So, we can either let it all get to us or roll with it and laugh at how stupid people can be."

"This isn't going to get any easier is it?" she asks with a sigh.

"Probably not."

"I think I'm going to have Erin start screening my mail."

"That's probably a good idea. And, you know she'll enjoy that."

A quiet moment passes before she says, "Yeah, you're right, I'm probably blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It was one letter and one stupid couple at the daycare. The fact that they needed to make their thoughts known on a stupid documentary is pretty sad in itself."

"Exactly."

The tension she felt in her shoulders dissipates by the time they arrive at Helene's to pick up the baby, but it immediately resurfaces when they find that Cecelia's coughing fits haven't subsided.

Frowning at her baby, she kisses the top of her head, silently thankful that she's not feverish.

"How was grandma's?" Pam asks, sliding into the back seat next to the car seat.

"Good," Cecelia mutters, her eyes blink slowly as she stares at the stuffed doll in her hands. "Grandma got me a new doll."

"Yes, she's very pretty."

"Mommy, my head hurts and my tummy hurts."

"I know, baby. When we get home, we'll make it better, okay?"

"Okay. Mommy, I missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Pam brushes her hand over the baby's forehead and kisses her hand.

Once they're home, Pam brings Cecelia to lie on the couch, wraps her in a blanket and takes her temperature. Jim watches his girls from the kitchen as he prepares dinner for them. He can't help but feel overwhelming admiration toward his wife as she takes care of their little girl, almost instinctively. He listens to Pam, the concern in her voice easing as she hangs up with the pediatrician and begins to read a book to Cecelia. The words he read earlier pop back in his mind as he chops lettuce for a salad. He wonders silently, how anyone could ever judge this amazing woman he's lucky enough to be married to.

The ringing phone breaks him out of his reverie. Figuring it's the doctor calling back, he picks up right away, expecting some sort of rescheduling or medicine recommendation, he picks up a note pad and pen. What he hears when he picks up leaves him speechless for a few moments as he listens to one of the documentary producers chastise him for being out with his wife on their anniversary.

"So," Mr. King continues, "because these pictures of the two of you have now found their way to a website and have clearly given away one of the storylines, what we're really asking is that maybe the two of you can keep it low key for a while."

"So, you're asking me to downplay my marriage?"

"Uh, yeah, just for a few months."

"I realize that reality shows sometimes have clauses in them where people aren't allowed to talk about what happened, but you guys shot over seven years of footage and never once asked us to keep quiet about anything. I read that contract, believe me, I would have never signed that thing if I knew there was a confidentiality clause."

"Yeah, okay, you're right, technically, we can't ask this. But it's great television, Jim. You wouldn't want to spoil that would you?"

Jim glances toward the living room, watching his wife read to his daughter, making her laugh as she makes different voices, almost acting out the book for Cecelia. He shakes his head, anger building at the thought of having to pretend anything other than those two people in there are his entire life.

"Listen," Jim says, trying to keep his voice low. "I love my wife and I don't care what you say, I'm not doing anything to hide it. I'm not sure if you realize that you're little documentary is screwing with people's lives, so for the protection of my wife and my daughter and for my own sanity, I am no longer taking any notes from you people. And I don't give a damn about whether or not it's good TV."

"Jim-"

He hangs up the phone abruptly, cutting off whatever else the producer had in mind to say. He walks into the living room, kisses both Pam and Cecelia, and sits on the floor as Pam continues to read.


End file.
